“If thou indeed derive thy light from Heaven,Then, to the measure of that heaven-born light,Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content: --The stars pre-eminent in magnitude,And they that from the zenith dart their beams,(Visible though they be to half the earth,Though half a sphere be conscious of their brightness)Are yet of no diviner origin,No purer essence, than the one that burns,Like an untended watch-fire on the ridgeOf some dark mountain; or than those which seemHumbly to hang, like twinkling winter lamps,Among the branches of the leafless trees.All are the undying offspring of one Sire:Then, to the measure of the light vouchsafed,Shine, Poet! in thy place, and be content.”